Inside My Mind
by Trish the Stalker
Summary: A short phanfic about Christine and Raoul's life together after the book is finished. It's not your typical fluff.


"Christine, won't you sing for me?" Christine blushed uncomfortably. She sat at the grand piano, she had just finished playing a piece by Auber.

"Oh, Raoul, I haven't sung for a very long time. I don't wish to make a new habit of it."

"But your voice, I still can't forget it. I haven't heard you sing like that for years now, and you sing like an angel. "

"Sang, Raoul. Sang."

"Christine," Raoul stood up and walked toward his wife, "I love you. You know that. What I would like to know is, will I ever hear you sing again?" His eyes were fill with concern and sincerity, and although he looked hopeful there was still doubt written on his face.

Christine's heart turned to lead in her chest. A single tear made its way down her face. She turned away from Raoul, who stood behind her. "I don't know if I'll ever sing again." Her voice was calm and even although her eyes had become red. While Raoul could not see her expression he could still sense her unease.

"Listen," He sat down beside her on the piano bench and put his hand on hers. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that… hearing you play opera just now made me wish I could hear your voice again."

"I'm sorry Raoul." Her voice was barely a whisper now and she knew it would not be long before the sobs would begin. Raoul tenderly embraced Christine and held her close. "I'm so sorry" she whispered again, but this time he did not hear her.

"It's alright. I promise never to bring it up again." He smiled earnestly. Christine just laid her head on his shoulder and let her golden curls trickle down his back.

After a moment or two of silence Christine began to relax and Raoul grabbed her firmly yet gently by the shoulders and looked deep into her blue eyes, "I worry about you, you know."

A cautious smile hovered around Christine's lips, "I know." Her heart sank a moment as she looked back at him. "I love you." She did, with all her heart, but Christine was not the innocent child she once was before their marriage. The heart with which she loved Raoul was the same heart that had been burned by passion, and now the love within that heart would forever be competing with the scars from the fire.

Christine felt that her sadness weighed upon Raoul's soul as well as her own. It tormented her so to see him worry about her so much. Every apology she uttered was for the suffering she felt she was causing him. It was because she loved him that she was afraid to share her pain with him, and because of that she had learned how to try and hide her sadness from him, how to cry silently, how to seem fine. Raoul still knew when she was hurting inside, but never why.

Night fell and the two retired to their separate bedchambers. Christine's had a large curtained bed, the curtains of which were nearly almost always drawn. There was no mirror--Christine harboured a great resentment for mirrors, and as such there were no mirrors in the entire manor, save for one which was only brought out before public affairs to which the couple wished to attend so that they could check their appearance. These public affairs were few and far between, especially for Christine.

Christine had an incredible distaste of being alone at any time, and yet it seemed she always was. Often she would cry herself to sleep in her loneliness. She longed for Raoul to make everything stop hurting, even if it was just for a moment. Despair often filled her when the darkness came, so Christine slept with a lamp burning throughout the night. Even so, the room would feel so very desolate and empty.

On this night Christine fell asleep on a pillow soaked in her tears. Raoul's mention of singing opera earlier had made her think about someone she had not wished to think about in a very long time. She no longer wished to sing because it reminded her of Erik, her teacher. Her friend. Her lover. And if she ever sang again, it would be for him, and only him.

Before long Christine entered a world of dreams and--for the first time since before the mysterious occurrence at the Paris Opera years ago--found herself on a stage. She was sixteen again, singing a beautiful aria which only she had been graced with the blessing of performing; or perhaps it was an aria which only Christine had the misfortune of being the one to perform it. She noticed the audience, which comprised of two men. The smiling face of Raoul, who stood and applauded, and a shadow seated behind him. Out of the darkness gleamed to amber eyes. Christine tried to warn Raoul of the danger sitting directly behind him but her voice continued to sing a sweet melody against her will.

She stood by and watched helplessly as a noose shot out of the darkness and found its way around Raoul's neck. As he began to gasp for air Christine heard the angelic voice of his attacker combining in harmony with hers. A face began to gain clarity in the darkness, if it could even be called a face. Yellow eyes glowed from within hollow sockets and between them were two flaring nostril-like holes instead of a nose. These features were all situated above a twisted, lipless grin. Raoul's face was turning red and his eyes were bulging out of his skull as the veins began to explode turning his eyes red. Suddenly he stopped moving, a look of abject terror permanently frozen onto his discoloured face as he stared at Christine with dead eyes.

Christine was now released from her spell and began to scream. Maniacal laughter echoed throughout the room, matching her screams note for note. She let out a piercing cry and Raoul's name was sounded in shrill notes beyond that of normal human capabilities.

She awoke in Raoul's arms, still hitting notes of an ear-splitting nature. "I'm here, Christine, I'm here."

Christine's doe eyes were wide with fear and she stared at some distant and nonexistent object as Raoul held her within his arms. "Raoul… Raoul tell me a story. Like when we were little. Then I'll sing for you, just like I used to."

He loosened his hold on her and she lay back down. Raoul lay behind her stroked her long hair. He was silent in thought, trying to recall how the story began. He then spoke softly, "Little Lotte was thinking of everything and nothing. She floated in the golden sunlight like a summer bird, wearing a crown of flowers on her blond curls. Her soul was as clear and blue as her eyes. She was affectionate to her doll, she took good care of her dress, her red shoes, and her violin, but what she liked most was to listen to the Angel of Music as she was falling asleep…."

And so Christine fell asleep in a bittersweet blanket of false happiness. At least for the time being Raoul and Christine could remember what they once had. Even if it was only a game--even if their hearts would eventually feel sorrow for pretending--for that particular moment in time they were happy. Perhaps, even though they no longer shared the innocence they were once both overflowing with, they now were bound together by a nightmare and a secret only they could ever know. A love once born out of child-like purity was now feeding-- and possibly thriving--on mutual disillusionment, emptiness and despair. For one last night, however, the two would fall asleep as the innocent children they once knew and loved in each other.


End file.
